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PRESENTED BY 









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EDITH AND HER AYAH, 

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T. NELSON AND SONS. 
LONION, EDINBURCH AND NEW YORK. 






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EDITH AND HER AYAH, 



AND OTHER STOEIES. 



M.. -jsl. cd. er. 

AUTHOR OF " EXILES IX BABYLON," " TRIUMPH OVER MIDIA.N 
" THE YOUNG PILGRIM," ETC. 



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LONDON: 
T. NELSON AND SOXS, PATERNOSTER ROW 

EDINBURGH; AND NEW YOKE. 



1872. 



B T 



<1( 







X) 



(Montznts. 



I. EDITH AND HER ATAH, 
II. THE BUTTERFLY, 

III. THE PENITENT, 

IV. THE REPROOF, 
V. THE VASE AND THE DART, 

VI. THE JEWEL, 
VII. THE STORM, ... 
VIII. THE SABBATH-TREE, ... 
IX. THE WHITE ROBE, 

X. CROSSES, 
XI. THE TWO COUNTRIES, 
XII. DO TOU LOVE GOD ? ... 

XIII. THE IMPERFECT COPY, 

XIV. A STORY OF THE CRDIEA, 
XV. " I HAVE A HOME, A HAPPY HOME, 





7 


20 




. 29 




. 37 




. 10 




. 49 




. 57 




65 




. 76 




84 




. 93 




. 102 




. 106 




. 112 


OME," 


. 119 




EDITH AND HER AYAH. 




AMMA," said little Edith, looking 

up from the toys with which she 

^ was playing at the feet of her 

M^ mother — " mamma, why does 

f^||| Motee Ayah never come in to 

prayers ? " 

Mrs. Tuller was seated at her desk in the 
large room of her bungalow (house) in India. 
The day was hot ; the blazing sun shone 
with fiery glare ; but the light came into 
the room so much softened by green blinds 
and half-closed shutters, that the place was 
so dark that the lady could scarcely see to 
write. The punkah, a kind of huge fan, 
moving gently to and fro above her, made a 



8 EDITH AND HER AYAH. 

refreshing air which would have sent her 
papers fluttering in every direction had not 
weights been placed to keep them down. 

Mrs. Tuller paused in her writing, but 
did not reply to the question asked by her 
child regarding her ayah, or native nurse. 

"Mamma," said little Edith again, "does 
not Motee Ayah love the Lord Jesus ? " 

"Alas, my child, she does not know 
him ! " 

" But will you not teach her, mamma % " 
and the fair-haired girl looked up in her 
mother's face with such a pleading look in 
her soft gray eyes, that, touched by her 
interest in the poor heathen, Mrs. Tuller 
bent down, kissed fondly the brow of her 
child, and whispered, " My love, I will try. " 

Nor did Mrs. Tuller forget her promise. 
Again and again she spoke to Motee of the 
Christian's faith and the Christian's God. 
It saddened the heart of the lady to feel 
that to seek to teach Motee religion' was 
like trying to write upon water. The ayah 
joined her dark hands together, listened, or 
seemed to listen, said, " Very good, very 
good," to everything that the beebee (lady) 



EDITH AND HER AYAH. 




TEACHING THE AYAH. 



told her, but always returned to her idol, a 
hideous little wooden image, and performed 
her poojah (worship) to Vishnu, as if she 
had never heard of a purer religion. Mrs. 
Tuller grew quite disheartened about her. 
Sometimes the lady blamed her own imper- 
fect knowledge of the language, and some- 
times she felt almost angry with the ayah 
for her blindness and hardness of heart. 

Poor Motee had been brought up from 
infancy amongst idolaters ; she had never 



10 EDITH AND HER AYAH. 

been taught truth when a child, and now 
error bound her like a chain. Motee had 
actually been led to think it honourable to 
her family that, many years before, there 
had been a suttee in it ; that is to say, a 
poor young widow had burnt herself with 
the dead body of her husband. Happily, 
our Government has forbidden suttees — no 
widow can thus be burnt now ; but still the 
cruel heathen religion hurts the bodies as 
well as the souls of the Queen's dark sub- 
jects in India. Motee's own father had 
died on a pilgrimage to what he believed to 
be a holy shrine. Travelling on foot for 
hundreds of miles under a burning sun, the 
poor idolater's strength had given way, and 
he had laid himself down by the roadside, 
sick, faint, and alone, to die far away from 
his home. Poor Motee had never reflected 
that the religion which had thus cost the 
lives of two of her family could not be a 
religion of heavenly love. She worshipped 
Vishnu, for she knew no better; and when 
her lady spoke to her of the Lord, the ayah 
only said to herself, that the God of the 
English was not the God of the Hindu, and 



EDITH AND HER AYAH. 11 

that she herself must do what all her fathers 
had done. 

Mrs. Tuller's words had little power, but 
her example and that of her husband were 
not without some effect upon the ignorant 
ayah. Motee knew that the sahib (master) 
who prayed with his family, never used bad 
words, nor was unkind to his wife, nor beat 
his servants, nor took bribes. Motee knew 
that the beebee who read her Bible was 
gentle, generous, and kind. The ayah 
could not but respect the religion whose 
fruits she saw in the lives of her master 
and mistress. 

But it was not only the lady's words and 
the lady's example that were used as means 
to draw the poor Hindu to God. Little 
Edith had never heard the beautiful saying, 
that " the nearest road to any heart is 
through heaven," and she would not have 
known its meaning if she had heard it, but 
the English child had been taught that the 
Saviour listens to prayer. Every night and 
morning Edith, at her mother's knee, re- 
peated the few simple words, " Lord Jesus, 
teach me to love thee ! " and now, of her 



12 EDITH AND HER AYAH. 

own accord, she added another short prayer. 
Mrs. Tuller caught the soft whispered words 
from the lips of her darling, " Lord Jesus, 
teach poor Motee Ayah to love thee ! " 
The mother took no outward notice, but 
from her heart she added " Amen " to the 
prayer of her child. 

The hot season passed away ; the time 
had come when Mr. Tuller and his family 
could enjoy what is called "'camp life," and 
move from place to place, living not in a 
house but a tent. The change was pleasant 
to the party, most of all to little Edith. 
She delighted in running about and playing 
with the goats, pulling the ropes, watching 
the black servants taking down the tents, 
or in riding on her little white pony. 
Edith's cheeks, which during the hot weather 
had grown quite thin and pale, became 
plump and rosy once more ; and merry was 
the sound of her childish voice as she gam- 
bolled in and out of the tent. 

One day, as Edith was playing outside, 
near the edge of a jungle or thicket, her 
attention was attracted by a beautiful little 
fawn, that seemed almost too young to run 



EDITH AXD HER AYAH. 13 

about, and which stood timidly gazing at 
the child with its soft dark eyes. 

" Pretty creature, come here/' cried Edith, 
beckoning with her small white hand ; " have 
you lost your mother, little fawn ? Come 
and share my milk and bread, — come, and I 
will make you my pet, and love you so 
much, pretty fawn ! " 

As all her coaxing could not lure the 
timid creature to her side, Edith advanced 
towards it. The fawn started back with a 
frightened look, and fled into the jungle as 
fast as its weak, slender limbs could bear it. 

The merry child gave chase, following the 
faw^n, and calling to it as she ran, pushing 
her way as well as she could between the 
tall reeds and grass, which were higher than 
her own curly head. 

Motee soon missed her charge, and quickly 
hurried after Edith. So eager, however, was 
the child in pursuit of the fawn, that she 
was some distance from the tents before the 
ayah overtook her. 

" Missee Baba," cried the panting 
nurse, "why you run away from your 
Motee?" 



14 EDITH AND HER AYAH. 

" I want to catch the pretty fawn ; I want 
to take it to mamma ; it is too little to be 
by itself, — I'm afraid the jackals will get it ! " 

" I am afraid that the jackals will get 
Missee Baba," cried the ayah, catching the 
little girl up in her arms. "Missee must 
come back to the beebee directly." 

Edith was a good little child, and made 
no resistance, though she looked wistfully 
into the bushes after the fawn, and called 
out to it again and again in hopes of luring 
it back. Motee attempted to return to the 
tents, but did not feel sure of the way, — the 
vegetation around grew so high that she 
could scarcely see two yards before her. 
She walked some steps with Edith in her 
arms, then stopped and looked round with 
a frightened air. 

" Motee, why don't you go on ? " asked 
Edith. 

" Missee Baba, we're lost ! " cried the 
poor Hindu; "lost here in the dreadful 
jungle, full of wild beasts and snakes ! " 

Edith stared at her ayah in alarm, yet at 
that moment the little child remembered 
her mother's lessons. " Don't be so fright- 



EDITH AND HER AYAH. 15 

ened, Mo tee," said the fair-haired English 
girl ; " the Lord Jesus can save us, and 
show us the way to manama." 

There was comfort in that thought, which 
the poor heathen could not have drawn from 
calling on Vishnu and the thousand false 
gods which the ignorant Hindus adore. 
The little child could feel, as the woman 
could not, that even in that lonely jungle a 
great and a loving Friend was beside her ! 

Again Motee tried to find her way, again 
she paused in alarm. What was that dread- 
ful sound, like a growl, that startled the 
ayah, and made her sink on her knees in 
terror, clasping all the closer the little girl 
in her arms ! Motee and Edith both turned 
to gaze in the direction from which that 
dreadful sound had proceeded. What was 
their horror on beholding the striped head 
of a Bengal tiger above the waving grass I 
Motee uttered a terrified scream, — Edith a 
cry to the Lord to save her. It seemed 
like the instant answer to that cry when 
the sharp report of a rifle rang through the 
thicket, quickly succeeded by a second ; and 
the wild beast, mortally wounded, lay roll- 



16 EDITH AND HER AYAH. 

ing and struggling on the earth ! Edith saw 
nothing of what followed ; the shock had 
been too great for the child ; senseless with 
terror she lay in the arms of her trembling 
ayah ! 

Edith's father, for it was he whom Provi- 
dence had sent to the rescue, bore his little 
darling back to the tent, leaving his ser- 
vants, who had followed his steps, to bring 
in the spoils of the tiger. It was some 
time before Edith recovered her senses, and 
then an attack of fever ensued. Mrs. Tuller 
nursed her daughter with fondest care, and 
with scarcely less tenderness and love the 
faithful Motee tended the child. The poor 
ayah would have given her life to save that 
of her little charge. 

On the third night after that terrible 
adventure in the woods came the crisis of 
the fever. Mrs. Tuller, worn out by two 
sleepless nights, had been persuaded to go 
to rest, and let Motee take her turn of 
watching beside the child. The tent was 
nearly dark, — but one light burned within 
it, — Edith lay in shadow, — the ayah could 
not see her face, — a terror came over the 

(324) 



EDITH AXD HER AYAH. 



17 



Hindu, — all was so still, she could not hear 
any breathing, — could Missee Baba be dead ! 
Motee during two anxious days had prayed 
to all the false gods that she could think of 
to make Missee Edith "well ; but the fever 
had not decreased. Now, in the silence of 
the night, poor Motee Ayah bethought her 
of the English girl's words in the jungle. 
Little Edith had said that the Lord could 
save them, — and had he not saved from 




THE AYAH PRAYING. 



the jaws of the savage tiger ? Could he 
not help them now ? The Hindu knelt be- 
side the charpoy (pallet) on which lay the 



(324) 



18 EDITH AND HER AYAH. 

fair-haired child, put her brown palms to- 
gether, bowed her head, and for the first 
time in her life breathed a prayer to the 
Christian's God : " Lord Jesus, save Missee 
Baba ! " 

" Motee ! Motee I " cried little Edith, 
starting up from the pillow with a cry of 
delight, and flinging her white arms round 
the neck of the astonished Hindu, "the 
Lord has made you love him, — I knew he 
would, — for I prayed so hayd. And oh, 
how I love you, Motee — more than ever I 
did before ! " The curly head nestled on 
the bosom of the ayah, and her dark skin 
was wet with the little child's tears of joy. 

Edith, a few minutes before, had awoke 
refreshed from a long sleep, during which 
her fever had passed away. And from that 
hour her recovery was speedy ; before many 
days were over the child was again sporting 
about in innocent glee. And from that 
night the ayah never prayed to an idol 
again. Willing she now was to listen to all 
that the beebee could tell of a great and 
merciful Lord. Of the skin of the tiger 
that the sahib had slain a rug was made, 



EDITH AND HER AYAH. 19 

which Edith called her praying-carpet. Upon 
this, morning' and night, the white English 
girl and her ayah knelt side by side, and 
offered up simple prayers to Him who had 
saved them from death. Mrs. Tuller's 
words had done less than her example in 
drawing a poor wandering soul to God ; but 
the prayer lisped by her little'lamb had had 
greater effect than either. 

Oh, if, in our dear land, all the little ones 
who have no money to give to the mission- 
ary cause, who have never even seen an 
idolater, would lift up their hands and hearts 
to the Lord, saying, " Teach the poor heathen 
to love thee ! " how rich a harvest of bless- 
ings would be drawn down by such a prayer 
on those who know not the truth, and still 
sit in darkness and the shadow of death ! 





II. 



THE BUTTERFLY. 




PARTY of boys had been playing 
in the fields on a sunny afternoon 
in the bright month of June. 
They had been chasing a gay 
butterfly, which, in its uncertain 
flight, had led them over hedge 
and ditch, till at last the beautiful prize was 
won, and the brilliant insect remained a 
helpless prisoner in the hands of its pursuers. 
Alas, for the butterfly ! A few moments 
before so gay and so free, sometimes resting 
on a blossom, then fluttering up towards 
the sky, its lovely wings were rudely torn 
away, and it lay quivering in the agonies of 
death. At this moment Ella Claremont, a 
young lady of the village, approached the 



THE BUTTERFLY. 



21 



party ; she had seen the chase and its close, 
and looked with regret on the poor mangled 
butterfly. " "Why did you not let it live ? " 
said she ; "it had never harmed you, and it 




A HELPLESS PRISONER. 



was so happy. You easily took away its 
little life," she added ; u but could any of 
you, could any power on earth, give that 



life back again ? " 



22 THE BUTTERFLY. 

The boys looked one upon another, and 
were silent, till the eldest of them, Giles, 
replied, " I am sorry that I killed it, but I 
did not know that there was any harm." 

" Surely/' said Ella, in a very gentle 
voice, a in a world where there is so much 
pain, one would be sorry to add, even in the 
least degree, to the amount of it. There is 
another feeling," continued she, "that should 
make us merciful to every creature ; we 
should look upon it as one of the wonderful 
works of God." 

"Why," said Anthony, "a butterfly is 
only a caterpillar after it has wings." 

" True ; but what human skill could form 
a caterpillar ! It has been calculated that 
in a single caterpillar there are sixty thou- 
sand muscles ! " 

An exclamation of astonishment burst 
from the boys. 

" They must be finer than spiders' threads," 
cried Giles. 

" I daresay," replied the lady, " that you 
are not aware that each separate spider's 
thread is said to be formed of about three 
thousand joined together." 



THE BUTTERFLY. 23 

" The world seems full of wonders/' ex- 
claimed little Robert. 

" It is indeed ; the more we search into 
God's works, the more wisdom and skill do 
we behold." 

" I'll not kill a butterfly again/' said Giles. 

"■I never see one fluttering in the sun/' 
continued Ella, " without thinking of those 
lines : — 

* Thou hast burst from thy prison, 
Bright child of the air ! 
Like a spirit just risen 

From its mansion of care ! ' " 

" That sounds very pretty/' said Giles ; 
"but I don't understand it." 

" It is not very difficult to explain/' re- 
plied Ella. " The butterfly teaches us a 
joyful lesson ; it is what is called a type of 
immortality ! You see the lowly caterpillar 
crawling over a leaf, — it cannot raise itself 
towards the sky, — it cannot leave the earth ; 
in this it is like what we are now. Then, as 
you know, it seems to die ; it is wrapped up 
in its little covering, and there it lies with- 
out motion or feeling — -that is like what we 
must be." 

" Ah ! I see ; when we are in our coffins, 



24 THE BUTTERFLY. 

dead and buried/' cried Robert. " But the 
bright butterfly soon bursts from the dark 
case, and we do not rise from our graves." 

" We shall," replied Ella earnestly; "we 
all shall rise again. No longer prisoners 
bound to earth, no longer creeping on amidst 
trials and sorrows, but free, happy, glorious, 
shining in the beams of the Sun of Right- 
eousness. ' For the trumpet shall sound, and 
the dead shall be raised' (1 Cor. xv. 52). 
Why should we fear death — why should we 
dread being laid in the cold tomb ? When 
we think of the hope set before us, well may 
we cry, ' O death, where is thy sting ? 
grave, where is thy victory?'" (1 Cor.xv. 55). 

There was a deep silence for a few mo- 
ments ; nothing was heard but the song of a 
lark high overhead, as it soared towards the 
sky. 

Then Giles spoke in a tone of awe, " Will 
all rise again \ " 

-Yes, all." 

" Will all rise to be free, and happy, and 
glorious ? " 

"Alas, no!" replied Ella. 

" How can we tell," continued the boy, 



THE BUTTERFLY. 25 

after a little hesitation, " whether ive shall 
be among the happy ones ? " 

" There will be but two classes then/' said 
Ella, " as there are but two classes aniongst 
those called Christians now. We may divide 
all who have heard of a Saviour into those 
who love God, and those who love sin, Those 
who love sin will awake to misery ; those 
who love God will awake to glory." 

"But," said the boy anxiously, "there 
may be some who love God and really try 
to obey him, and yet sin sometimes." 

"All sin sometimes," replied Ella. "There 
is not one human being free from sin." 

"Then," said Giles, "I should be afraid 
that, when the trumpet sounded, my sins 
would be like chains, and keep me down, so 
that I could not rise." 

Every eye was turned towards Ella ; every 
ear anxiously listened for her reply ; for 
every young heart was conscious of some 
sin, and felt the difficulty which Giles had 
started. 

" It would have been so," replied Ella, 
" had not the Saviour died for sinners like 
us. His blood washes us quite clean from 



26 THE BUTTERFLY. 

all guilt — that is, if we really believe on him 
and love him. Let us look upon our sins as 
chains noiv, and struggle hard to burst them, 
and pray for grace to help us : then, if we 
are Christ's people, we shall rise joyfully in 
that great day when i the Lord himself shall 
descend from heaven with a shout, with the 
voice of the archangel, and with the trump 
of God'" (1 Thess. iv. 16). 

" I think," said Giles, after a pause, " that 
sins are like chains, and very hard to break 
too. There is temper, now ! I know that 
I've a bad temper; I determine over and 
over again that I will get rid of it ; but the 
harder I struggle, the tighter the chain 
seems to grow." 

" And mother is trying to cure me of say- 
ing bad words," cried little Bobert; "but 
it's no use — they will come ; I say them 
when I'm not thinking about it." 

" Have you tried prayer % " inquired Ella. 
"Do you not know the precious promises, 
' If any of you lack wisdom, let him ask of 
God, that giveth to all men liberally, and 
upbraideth not ; and it shall be given him ' 
(James i. 5). 'Ask, and it shall be given 



THE BUTTERFLY. 27 

you ; seek, and ye shall find ; knock, and it 
shall be opened unto you 5 (Luke xi. 9). 
These words have often been such a comfort 
to me, when I felt how heavy my chain 
was, and how weak my efforts to get rid of 
it. And now, my young friends, I must 
leave you ; will you think over what I have 
said?" 

"Yes, miss, and thank you for it," said 
Giles, touching his cap. 

Ella paused as she was turning to depart, 
and gazed upon the sky, all bright with the 
evening sun, setting amidst clouds of crimson 
and gold. 

" How glorious ! " she cried, " how beauti- 
ful that work of God ! He, too, speaks of 
the resurrection ; he sinks to rise again ! 

1 Just so is the Christian ; his course he begins, 
Like the sun in a mist, when he mourns for his sins, 
Then all in a moment he breaks out and shines, 
And travels his heavenly way. 

' And when he comes nearer to finish his race, 
Like a fine setting sun, he grows richer in grace, 
And gives a sure hope, at the end of his days, 
Of rising in brighter array ! ' 

" Farewell, my children. "Whether we 
shall see each other again on this earth, 



28 THE BUTTERFLY. 

who shall dare to say ? But we shall meet 
again when the last trumpet sounds, and 
the dead hear the Saviour's voice, and the 
saints awake in his likeness. Let us live 
now as those who are waiting for the Lord, 
and who long for the hour of his appear- 
ing." 

" Oh ! when through earth, and sea, and skies, 
Th' archangel's final summons flies, 
May we, through Christ, immortal rise 
Towards a heavenly home ! 

" They who together life have trod, 
May they together burst the sod, 
And glorious rise to meet their God ! 
Come, Jesus, Saviour, come ! " 







BS N 




,A 









III. 

the penitent. 




*HAT is the matter with, you, 
Charley ? " said George Mayne, as 
he returned home from the factory, 
and found his little brother cry- 
ing violently on the door-step. 
" What has vexed you, Charley, my boy ? " 
" Oh, my father will never forgive me," 
sobbed the child. 

" I cannot think that, he is so good and 
so kind. Come, dry up your tears, and tell 
me what has happened ; perhaps I may be 
able to help you out of your trouble." 

It was some time before, soothed by the 
kindness of his brother, the boy became 
calm enough to explain the cause of his 



30 



THE PENITENT. 




CHARLEY'S GRIEF. 



grief. With a voice half choked with tears 
he began : " Father had sent me to pay the 
baker — he had given me a half-crown to do 



THE PENITENT. 31 

it — he had trusted me; and now it is all — all 
gone ! Oh, father will never forgive me ! " 
and he burst into a fresh agony of sorrow. 

" You lost the money, did you 1 Well, 
father can ill afford it, but he will forgive 
you for an accident, I am sure." 

" But it was not an accident, that is the 
worst of it ! You see, I met Jack and Ben ; 
they were playing at pitch-farthing, and 
they called to me to join them." 

" But father has forbidden us to keep 
company with those idle boys." 

" I know it — but I disobeyed him — I was 
very wrong — and I am very miserable." 

" I hope that you did not join the game?" 

"Not at first— I told them that I had 
given father my solemn promise never to 
gamble ; but they jeered me, and laughed at 
me — and I played with them — and they got 
all my money from me — the half-crown that 
was not mine, with which I had been trusted. 
Oh, father will never forgive me ! " 

" Now, Charley, do you know what I 
advise you to do ? " said George. " Go to 
father at once, confess your fault to him, let 
not one sin lead you to another." 



32 THE PENITENT. 

" Confess to him ! — I dare not." 

" I will go with you, Charley ; I will 
plead for you." 

" But father is so poor ; he will be in 
debt, and he cannot bear that ! He will be 
so angry. Oh, cannot I say that some one 
snatched the half-crown out of my hand 1 " 

" Charley, Charley ! " cried his brother, 
almost sternly, " the Evil One is tempting 
you. He has gained one victory over you ; 
would you be his slave entirely ? Pray to 
God for strength to struggle against this 
temptation : remember that liars have no 
place in heaven. I will plead for you, I say; 
and as for the money, I have been saving up 
pence for the last six months to buy a par- 
ticular book which I have much wished to 
have — I have just enough of money, and I 
will pay the debt." 

" George, how good you are ! But if 
the debt is paid, need I confess \ " 

" Yes ; you have not only lost the money, 
but broken father's command, and broken 
your own promise. Hide nothing. Take 
my hand, Charley, and come with me at 
once ; every moment that we delay doing 



THE PENITENT. 33 

what is right, we add to the difficulty of 
doing it." 

So hand in hand the two brothers ap- 
peared before their father, who was resting 
himself after a hard day's work. George 
encouraged poor Charley to confess his 
fault ; he entreated forgiveness for the 
offender ; he placed in the hand of his father 
his own hard-earned savings. The parent 
opened his arms, and pressed both his sons 
to his heart ! Then making Charley sit 
down beside him, the good man thus 
addressed his repentant child : — 

" I forgive you, my boy, for the sake of 
your brother ; but there is another Friend 
whom you have offended, whose command- 
ment you have broken, whose forgiveness 
you must seek." 

" I know that I have sinned against 
God," said Charley sadly. 

" And for whose sake do you hope to be 
forgiven ? " 

Charley looked up in the face of his 
father, and replied, " I hope for forgiveness 
for the sake of the Lord Jesus Christ." 

" And if you are grateful to an earthly 

(324) 3 



34 THE PENITENT. 

brother for pitying you, and pleading for 
you, and paying your debt, how can you be 
thankful enough to that heavenly Saviour 
who shed his own blood to win for you a 
free pardon, and who now is pleading for 
you at the right hand of God ? " 

Charley was silent, but his eyes filled 
with tears. 

"And now, George, my boy, bring me 
the Bible," said his father ; "it is time for 
our evening reading." 

" What part shall I read ? " inquired 
George, reverently opening the sacred book. 

" Oh, let him read of some one who had 
sinned and was forgiven ! " said poor Charley. 

At his father's look of assent, George 
turned to the touching story of the woman 
who, weeping and penitent, sought for 
mercy from the Saviour, and found it. 

" Behold, a woman in the city, which was 
a sinner, when she knew that Jesus sat at 
meat in the Pharisee's house, brought an 
alabaster-box of ointment, and stood at his 
feet behind him weeping, and began to wash 
his feet with tears, and did wipe them with 
the hairs of her head, and kissed his feet, 



THE PENITENT. 35 

and anointed them with the ointment. 
Now when the Pharisee which had bidden 
him saw it, he spake within himself, saying, 
This man, if he were a prophet, would have 
known who and what manner of woman this 
is that toucheth him : for she is a sinner. 
And Jesus answering, said unto him, Simon, 
I have somewhat to say unto thee. And he 
saith, Master, say on. There was a certain 
creditor which had two debtors ; the one 
owed five hundred pence, and the other fifty. 
And when they had nothing to pay, he 
frankly forgave them both. Tell me, there- 
fore, which of them will love him most? 
Simon answered and said, I suppose that he 
to whom he forgave most. And he said 
unto him, Thou hast rightly judged. And 
he turned to the woman, and said unto 
Simon, Seest thou this woman ? I entered 
into thine house, thou gavest me no water 
for my feet : but she hath washed my feet 
with tears, and wiped them with the hairs 
of her head. Thou gavest me no kiss : but 
this woman, since the time I came in, hath 
not ceased to kiss my feet. My head WTth 
oil thou didst not anoint : but this woman 



36 



THE PENITENT. 



hath anointed my feet with ointment. 
Wherefore I say unto thee, Her sins, which 
are many, are forgiven ; for she loved much : 
but to whom little is forgiven, the same 
loveth little. And he said unto her, Thy 
sins are forgiven " (Luke vii. 37-48). 




M& ENTER NOT INTO THE <>2 



\ VyV s ^y ^ 




IV. 

THE EEPEOOF. 




LADY and her young daughter 
were travelling by train. Two 
gentlemen occupied seats in the 
same carriage, and presently en- 
tered into conversation with each 
other. Their language was such 
as pained their fellow-traveller to hear. 
The sacred name of the Deity lightly 
uttered, the profane oath on their lips, 
showed how little they regarded that solemn 
warning, " For every idle word that men 
shall speak, they shall give an account in the 
day of judgment" Fearful of uttering her 
thoughts to the strangers, the lady turned 
to her daughter, who, after having shown 



38 



THE REPROOF. 



the fidgety restlessness common to children 
upon a journey, now sat still with open eyes 
and ears, a wondering listener to the conver- 
sation. 




IN THE TRAIN. 



Anxious to divert the attention of Adine, 
the lady pointed out to her various objects 
on the road, and then proceeded to repeat 
anecdote after anecdote from the funds of a 
well-stocked memory. Adine was soon all 
attention ; and at last even the gentlemen, 
having worn out their own subject of con- 



THE REPROOF. 39 

versation, paused to listen to the mother 
entertaining her child. 

" Did I ever tell you the story of a great 
king/' said the lady, "who once overheard 
two of his courtiers speaking in a way 
greatly to displease him ? He gently drew 
back the curtains of his tent, and uttered 
this quiet reproof : ' Remove a little further, 
gentlemen, for your king hears you ! ' 

" Adine," continued the mother, with a 
flushed cheek and beating heart, for she 
wished, yet feared, to make her lesson plain 
to the older listeners, " may not some people 
yet need such a reproof? " 

" It would be of no use, mamma," replied 
the child simply ; " for, let us remove as far 
as we can, our heavenly King ahvays hears 
us!" 

There was not another oath uttered during 
the remainder of that journey ; the lesson 
had not been given in vain. 





THE YASE AND THE DAKT. 




JOT at school again, Harry?" said the 
teacher, Willy Thorn, as he seated 
himself in the little parlour of 
Widow Brown, and regarded with 
a kind but almost sad countenance 
the flushed face of her grandson. " You 
have not been with us for a month, Harry, 
and I fear that you never go to church. I 
had hoped better things of you, my boy." 

" It's all from the bad company that he 
gets into," said the widow, taking off her 
spectacles and wiping the glasses. " He is 
a good lad at heart, sir ; but you see as how 
he has no firmness — he can't say No. Harry 
intends to do well one hour, and forgets all 



THE VASE AND THE DART. 41 

about it the next ; but I'll be bound you'll 
see him at school and at church too, some 
day or other." 

" He knows not how long he may have 
the opportunity of doing either. Remember, 
Harry, the fate of your young companion, 
Sam Porter, hurried in one instant into 
eternity — not one moment given him to 
repent, to call on his Saviour ! — all his 
opportunities past for ever ! " 

Harry sighed and looked down. 

" "Well, my boy," said Thorn, more cheer- 
fully, "if you have made good resolutions 
and broken them a hundred times, try again; 
try with faith and prayer, and God may 
give you the victory yet ! I heard a little 
allegory to-day. I thought that it might 
interest, and perhaps benefit you ; so, as it 
is too dark at present for reading, I will 
repeat it to you, if Mrs. Brown would like 
to hear it." 

. " I am quite agreeable," said the old 
woman, leaning back in her arm-chair. 

" What is an allegory ? " inquired Harry. 

" Real truths shown in fiction. You will 
understand better what an allegory is when 



42 THE VASE AND THE DART. 

you have listened to this. It is called the 
story of 

" THE VASE AND THE DART. 

" A young boy entered a beautiful garden, 
which extended as far as the eye could 
reach. Through the whole length of it 
stretched a narrow avenue, bordered with 
overhanging trees. Slowly the boy pursued 
his way along it, listening to the songs of 
the birds, and admiring the green foliage 
above him, through which, here and there, 
streamed the rays of the glorious sun. He 
quickly perceived that he was not alone ; on 
either side, all down the long avenue, stood 
a line of maidens, beautiful to behold. They 
were all robed in white, with wreaths of 
fresh flowers on their heads, and greeted the 
boy with a bright smile of welcome. Each 
held in her right hand a vase of gold, in her 
left a sharp iron dart." 

" I do not understand this allegory at 
all," said Harry. " Did any one ever see 
such maidens as these ? " 

" These maidens," replied Thorn, " are 
well known to all — they are called Oppor- 



THE VASE AND THE DART. 



43 




THE ROWS OF MAIDENS. 



tunities. Who has not met with oppor- 
tunities of doing good, opportunities of re- 
ceiving good ? " 

" I see, sir. Pray go on." 

" As the boy approached the first maiden, 
she held out her vase to him, and invited 
him to take the contents. On the golden 
vase appeared the word Prayer, and the 
sweetest, fairest fruits w T ere heaped up with- 



44 THE VASE AND THE DART. 

in it ; but the boy scarcely glanced at the 
proffered gift. ' It is wearisome ! ' he cried; 
so pushed it aside and passed on." 

" Opportunity for prayer ! " cried old Mrs. 
Brown. " Ah, sir, who can count how 
many times we have pushed that away from 
us ! God forgive us ! " 

" The boy sauntered on/' resumed Willy 
Thorn, " and soon another fair maiden stood 
before him : she also held forth a vase of 
bright gold, full of pieces of glittering silver. 
On it was inscribed the word Knowledge." 

" Here is the opportunity of gaining learn- 
ing at school," said Mrs. Brown, who was 
an intelligent old woman, and had read a 
good deal in her youth. 

" But the boy scarcely glanced at the 
proffered gift. * It is troublesome ! ' he 
cried ; so pushed it aside and passed on. 

" A short space further on another maiden 
stopped him, with a bright and joyous coun- 
tenance. Her gold vase contained the love- 
liest flowers, and on it appeared written, Acts 
of Kindness to others. The boy looked at 
it wistfully for a moment, tempted by the 
sweet perfume of the beautiful blossoms. 



THE VASE AND THE DART. 45 

Opportunity smiled, but selfishness stayed the 
hand of the boy, half stretched out to empty 
the vase : he pushed it aside and passed on. 

" The next maiden who greeted him was 
calm and fair, with a grave and earnest look. 
Her vase was full of refined gold, and this 
was the motto which it bore : Attendance 
at the House of God. A sound of church- 
bells came on the breeze, and the sweet 
music of a distant hymn ; but in vain they 
fell on the boy's listening ear. ' It is dull ! ' 
he cried ; pushed the rich vase aside, and 
passed on." 

" But you said, sir," observed Harry, 
"that the maidens held darts in their left 
hands, as well as vases in their right. What 
do you mean by them ? " 

"You shall hear before I end my story. 
So the boy reached another maiden, who 
looked like an angel from heaven. Her 
eyes shone like stars in the calm blue sky, 
and the tones of her voice thrilled deep into 
the heart. Her vase was overflowing with 
sparkling jewels, brighter than those which 
monarchs wear. On it shone in glittering 
letters, The Word of God." 



46 THE VASE AND THE DART. 

" Oh, I hope that he put out his hand 
and took that ! " cried the aged woman, rest- 
ing hers on her Bible. 

" Opportunity cried, ' Oh, pass me not by ! 
Search the Scriptures, that can make you wise 
unto salvation' She held forth her vase 
with imploring look, but the boy was intent 
on pursuing his way. ' I care not for it ! ' 
he cried ; so pushed it aside and passed on." 

" Well, he might have the same oppor- 
tunity of reading the Bible again and again," 
said Harry. 

" Not the same,'" replied Willy Thorn ; 
" the boy could not retrace one step of his 
way. No moment of time can ever be 
recalled. Every opportunity of doing good 
once past, whatever others may arise, that 
opportunity is past for ever ! 

" ' I shall meet with more maidens,' said 
the boy. ' I see an endless number before 
me ; doubtless they carry vases as precious 
as those which I have rejected.' But even 
as he spoke the words, he came suddenly on 
a black iron gate, and he could pass on no 
further. Shuddering, he read on the gate 
the solemn word, Death ! 



THE VASE AND THE DART. 47 

" Then would he gladly have turned 
round : then would he have earnestly asked 
for one more opportunity for prayer — one 
more opportunity of doing what is right ; 
but the last had been passed — he had slighted 
the treasure of the last ! Nor can we 
despise opportunities, and not suffer for 
doing so ; if they offer the vase, they also 
carry the punishment meet for those who 
neglect its contents. As the boy stood 
trembling at the gate of Death, a dart came 
hissing through the air, and inflicted on him 
a burning wound : then came another and 
another ; every opportunity despised sent 
its messenger of vengeance, and the wretched 
boy, writhing with the arrows of conscience 
in his soul, sank down at the gate, and 
perished ! " 

" Alas ! " cried Harry, " where can I then 
find safety, for I have neglected more oppor- 
tunities than I can number of doing good 
and receiving good ? " 

" Ask the Lord for pardon through the 
blood of the Saviour ! " exclaimed Thorn. 
" c Now is the accepted time, now is the day 
of salvation ; ' neglect not this opportunity — 



48 THE VASE AND THE DAKT. 

it may be your last ! my young friend ! 
no day leaves you as it found you ; every 
day brings its opportunities of prayer, praise, 
reading the Bible, and obeying God's laws; 
every day you have chosen either the vase 
or the dart." 

Dear reader, to you would I address a 
few words. If this little story has raised 
the thought in your heart, " How have / 
improved my opportunities % " oh, push it 
not aside and pass on ! Let not the day 
close without prayer ; seize the golden prize 
while yet it is offered to you, or hope not 
to esca/pe the dart ! 





'— I 



MM 



VI. 

THE JEWEL. 




^|,4S a lady was walking across Hyde 



Park, rather early in the day, she 
happened to take her handkerchief 
out of her pocket, and drew out 
with it, by accident, a little red case. 
It fell on the path, and rolled almost 
to the feet of a poor girl who was standing 
near. The child was clad in rags, her hair 
was rough, her face and hands dirty ; she 
was one who had no one to care for her, no 
one to teach her what was right. Half 
eager, half afraid, she stretched out her 
hand to seize the prize, but first turned 
round to see that she was not obseryed, and 
met the eye of the lady. 

4 



50 THE JE^VYEL. 

" Stop ! " said Mrs. Claremont, who had 
heard the case drop on the ground ; " stop, 
little girl, you are in danger of losing some- 
thing ! " and while the astonished Ann knew 
not what could possibly be meant by such 
strange words, the lady quietly stooped down 
and picked up the case herself. 

She then again addressed the child ; her 
manner was not angry, but calm and kind, 
and Ann, notwithstanding her fear and 
shame, felt a pleasure in listening to so gentle 
a voice. 

" Come beside me while I rest on this 
bench," said Mrs. Claremont, "and tell me 
what I meant, w^hen I said that you were in 
danger of losing something." 

Ann only stared at her, and made no 
answer. 

" Do you know that you have a soul \ " 

" I know nothing about it," muttered the 
girl. 

"Then," said Mrs. Claremont, "I will 
show you what you were going to take, and 
explain to you what you were in danger of 
losing." 

" I've got nothing to lose," thought Ann, 



THE JEWEL. 



51 



but she watched the lady with some curi- 
osity. 

"You see/' continued Mrs. Claremont, 
"this little red case. It has nothing fine 




THE LADY AXD THE LITTLE GIEL. 



about it, — it looks old and worn. Did you 

think it worth stealing ? " 

" I thought there was something in it." 
" You thought right ; the most precious 

part is ivithin. So it is with you, and all 

people, my child. Your body, which can be 



52 THE JEWEL. 

seen and felt, is like the case of the jewel ; 
your soul is the jewel itself." 

" What is a soul ? " said Ann. 

" When I speak to you, you think of what 
I say — the part of you that thinks is the 
soul ; if any were kind to you, you would 
love them — the part that loves is the soul. 
You can see that tree ; it lives, but it has no 
soul in it, it cannot love or think. Do you 
understand me now ? " 

" Yes/' answered the girl. 

" You cannot see this jeAvel, because the 
case is shut ; I am going to open the case, 
and show it to you." 

Mrs. Claremont unclosed the little case, 
and Ann beheld a very beautiful jewel, which 
sparkled like a star in the rays of the sun. 

" This jewel was given to my great-grand- 
mother on her marriage," said Mrs. Clare- 
mont. 

" Oh, how bright and fine it is ! " cried 
Ann ; "it does not look at all old ! " 

" It will never look old. When I and my 
children's children are in their graves, it will 
look beautiful and fresh as ever ! ' And so it 
is with the soul. Our bodies must be laid 



THE JEWEL. 53 

in the tomb, but our souls — those jewels 
within — will never, never die ! " 

" Where will they be when our bodies are 
dead ? " asked Ann. 

"Either in happiness or in misery, ac- 
cording as we have been God's faithful 
people here or not/' replied Mrs. Clareniont. 
"Now tell me, my poor child, for which 
should we care most, — the case or the jewel, 
the body or the soul ? " 

"The soul/' answered Ann. 

" And it was your soul which you were 
putting in danger even now ; for sin is the 
ruin of the soul. It is written in God's 
Word, 'What shall it profit a man if he 
gain the whole world and lose his own soul, 
or what shall a man give in exchange for his 
soul ? ' To procure a few more comforts for 
your weak perishing body, would you throw 
away the precious jewel within ? " 

Ann looked at the lady very sadly, and 
then replied, " No one ever spoke to me in 
this way before ; no one cares for my soul ! " 

" my child, there is One who cares 
for it, One to whom it is very precious ! 
The Lord Jesus Christ left the glory of 



54 THE JEWEL. 

heaven to come and save poor souls. He 
bought yours with his life's blood. He 
died on the cross, that it might shine for 
ever in glory ! " 

" Does the Lord really care for me ? " in- 
quired Ann anxiously. " Why, then, am I 
so wretched and so poor ? " 

" He does care for you ; he does love 
you ; you are precious to him. And as for 
being poor and wretched — look again at this 
beautiful jewel, and tell me where you think 
that it came from first." 

" I cannot tell." 

" It came from the dust, — it was dug from 
the dark earth. It had no great beauty 
then ; those who did not know its real value 
would have despised and thrown it away ; 
but there were those who knew that it was 
precious. So we too belong to the dust, 
fallen sinful creatures ; and we would have 
lain there for ever, had not the Lord had pity 
upon us and raised us, and brought us into 
the sunlight of his gospel." 

" If the jewel was not bright at first, what 
makes it so bright now ? " inquired Ann. 

" It has been cut and polished, and so it is 



THE JEWEL. 55 

with our souls. God sends them poverty or 
trials here, to prepare them to shine in his 
palace above ! If the jewel had been a living 
thing it would not have liked to have been 
cut, but it would never have been bright 
without it." 

" I should like to know more about the 
Lord who cares for my soul, and bought it 
with his blood," sighed Ann. 

" Have you a Bible or Testament, my 
child ? " 

"No, ma'am." 

" Can you read ? " 

"No," said Ann sadly. 

" There is a Ragged School near, to which 
you might go and be taught, and hear about 
the Lord Jesus, and what he has done for 
your soul." 

" I know where the school is," said Ann. 

" Go, then, and you will be made welcome, 
my poor little friend. I do not remain in 
London myself, but I will leave with the 
teacher some clothes, and a beautiful Bible, 
which shall be yours as soon as you can 
read it." 

" Thank you, ma'am," said the girl. 



56 THE JEWEL. 

"And one little word before we part, 
perhaps never to meet again in this world/' 
continued Mrs. Claremont. " If you cannot 
read you can pray — have you ever prayed to 
God?" 

" Never/' replied Ann. 

" Your soul can never be safe until you do. 
Kneel down, morning and evening, and at 
least repeat these few words : ' Lord, for- 
give my sins, and make my heart clean by 
thy Spirit, for Jesus Christ's sake.' So short 
a prayer you can remember, can you not, if I 
repeat it over to you two or three times ? " 

" I think so," said Ann. 

" Pray with your whole heart, my child, 
and God, for the sake of the Saviour, will 
hear and bless you. Love him who first 
loved you, believe in his mercy, and obey 
his holy commandments. Then what matter 
if for a few years, or months, or days, you 
be called upon to wait or suffer here ? Death 
will soon unclose the worn-out case, and 
remove the precious jewel to that glorious 
place where tears shall be wiped from every 
eye, and sorrow and sighing shall flee for ever 
away ! " 




vn 
THE STORM. 




LITTLE vessel was floating over 
the Sea of Tiberias ; the Lord 
Jesus and his disciples were within 
it. " And there arose a great 
storm of wind, and the waves beat 
into the ship, so that it was now 
full. And Jesus was in the hinder part of 
the ship, asleep on a pillow ; and they awake 
him, and say unto him, Master, carest thou not 
that we perish ? And he arose, and rebuked 
the wind, and said unto the sea, Peace, be 
still ! And the wind ceased, and there was 
a great calm" (Mark iv. 37-39). The toss- 
ing waves sank down at his word, and the 
obedient waters lav like a sheet of glass, 



58 THE STORM. 

reflecting the blue sky above! "And he 
said unto his disciples, Why are ye so fearful ? 
how is it that ye have no faith ? And they 
feared exceedingly, and said one to another, 
What manner of Man is this, that even the 
wind and the sea obey him ? " (Mark iv.) 

Dear little reader, are you in trouble or 
temptation ? Then are you like the disciples 
on the stormy Sea of Tiberias. Perhaps 
vour relations are harsh and unkind, or 
perhaps you are a poor orphan without a 
friend in the world, and are ready to say, 
" No man careth for my soul ! " But you 
have one Friend, a powerful Friend, a loving 
Friend, who has led you on your voyage 
through life until now, and will lead you to 
the end ! The Lord Jesus is beside you, 
though you see him not. Hear what he says 
to those who love him : Can a woman forget 
her sucking child ! yea, they may forget, yet 
will I not forget thee (Isa. xlix. 15). 

Or are you in great poverty, hungry and 
weary ? You can scarcely earn your daily 
bread, you have no comfort, no rest, no home ! 
In the bitterness of your heart, you cry, 
" Lord, carest thou not that we perish ? " 



THE STORM. 59 

my child, the Saviour is not asleep ! He 
knows your trials, he has felt thera all — the 
Lord of heaven and earth once "had not 
where to lay his head ! " Behold, the eye of 
the Lord is upon them that fear him, upon 
them that hope in his mercy ; to deliver their 
soul from death, and to keep them alive in 
famine (Ps. xxxiii. 18, 19). Many are the 
afflictions of the righteous; but the Lord 
delivereth him out of them all (Ps. xxxiv. 19). 
Ask the Lord to help you, to feed you, to 
comfort you, above all, to give you his Holy 
Spirit ; for if we love and trust in him, then 
our light affliction, which is but for a moment, 
icorlceth for us a far more exceeding and 
eternal iceight of glory. Then the rough 
wind of trouble will but bring you on more 
quickly towards heaven, and even here below 
Jesus may bid the waves of affliction be still, 
and there shall be a great calm ! 

Or are you in the storm of temptation ? 
You wish to please God, you wish to go to 
heaven, but you feel as though the way were 
too hard for you. You think, " I cannot 
resist that temptation ; I can give up all but 
that one sin. If I do not join my com- 



60 THE STORM. 

panions in what is wrong, I shall be despised ; 
if I do not tell such a falsehood, I shall be 
beaten ; if I do not work or sell on Sundays, 
I shall be starved ! " In such a storm of 
temptation turn to the Saviour still ; for in 
that he himself hath suffered being tempted, he 
is able to succour them that are tempted (Heb. 
ii. 18). Cry, "Lord, save me or I perish! 
Give me thy Holy Spirit, that I may be 
ready to follow thee through trouble and 
temptation. Whatever I may suffer here, 
oh, keep me faithful to thee ! " 

Think on this one great truth, dear reader. 
The comfort of the voyage matters little in 
comparison to the place where we are going. 
The voyage of life cannot last very long ; 
the fiercest storm must soon pass away ! 
Look at these two different passengers, and 
think which of them you would pity. 

See one vessel bounding gaily over the 
bright water, the wind in her favour, the sun 
shining upon her ; and look at that man on 
her deck ! He is a slave ; he is going to 
suffering and misery, he dreads to arrive at 
the port. Do you not pity him ? Yet his 
case is happy compared with that of those 



THE STORM. 



61 



who forget God — who, caring but for plea- 
sure, living only for this world, are yet hurry- 
ing on to death — and after death the judgment: 
Poor slaves of sin ! do thev not know that — 



1 The greatest evil vre can fear, 
Is to possess our portion here ! ' 




THE MAS AT THE WHEEL. 



Now look at this other man in a storm- 
tossed vessel ! He is going home. He is 
going to riches, and honour, and happiness, 
and home! Though the waves rise high, 



62 THE STORM. 

they will not overwhelm him ; though the 
clouds are so dark, there is a sunshine in his 
heart ! On the shore he knows that all will 
be peace, and he can smile in the midst of 
the storm ! Do you pity him ? But far 
happier is the Christian, however afflicted 
here ; for his heart, and his hopes, and his 
home, are in heaven, and he is on his way to 
God ! His sins forgiven through the blood 
of his Saviour, his courage supported by the 
power of God's grace ! Blessed is the man 
that endureth temptation: for when he is tried, 
he shall receive the crown of life, which the 
Lord hath promised to them that love him ! 
(James i. 12). 

Think of those who have already landed 
on the happy shore, but not till they had 
passed through the storm. There are saints 
who have suffered, and martyrs who have 
died for the Lord ! They do not wish now 
that their trials had been less ; — sweet is to 
them the remembrance of the storm ! When 
holy St. John, banished to Patmos for the 
sake of the gospel, saw heaven opened, and 
its glory appearing, what did he behold there ? 
These are his words : — 



THE STORM. 63 

"After this I beheld, and, lo, a great 
multitude, which no man could number, of 
all nations, and kindreds, and people, and 
tongues, stood before the throne, and before 
the Lamb, clothed with white robes, and 
palms in their hands. And one of the elders 
answered, saying unto me, What are these 
which are arrayed in white robes ? and 
whence came they ? And I said unto him, 
Sir, thou knowest. And he said to me, 
These are they which came out of great 
tribulation, and have washed their robes, 
and made them white in the blood of the 
Lamb. Therefore are they before the throne 
of God, and serve him day and night in his 
temple : and he that sitteth on the throne 
shall dwell among them. They shall hunger 
no more, neither thirst any more ; neither 
shall the sun light on them, nor any heat. 
For the Lamb which is in the midst of the 
throne shall feed them, and shall lead them 
unto living fountains of waters : and God 
shall wipe away all tears from their eyes " 
(Rev. vii. 9, 13-17). 

"Lord, carest ilxou not that we perish /" 
How oft is the cry of despair, 



64 THE STORM. 



When affliction's waves roll, 
And the agonized soul 
Scarce can utter its anguish in prayer ! 

Yet the Saviour is watching beside us, 
His eye cannot slumber nor sleep ; 

The bark which he guides, 

Where his presence abides, 

Can never be wrecked on the deep ! 

Oh ! how soon would our inward fears vanish, 

Our souls smile at perils without, 
Could we hear his mild love 
Thus our terrors reprove, — 

" Ye of little faith, why did you doubt /" 

Lord, make us trust ever in thee, 

Though our frail bark by tempests be driven ; 
Till thy sovereign will 
Bid the rude waves " be still ! " 

And we rest in the haven of heaven ! 





VIII. 

THE SABBATH-TREE. 




? T was on a bright Sunday afternoon 
that the teacher, Willy Thorn, on 
returning from church, met three of 
his scholars sauntering towards one 
of the London parks. They per- 
ceived his approach at some little distance, 
and instantly began to conceal in their 
pockets something that they had been carry- 
ing in their hands. Their nearness to a very 
tempting stall, upon which fruit and sweet- 
meats were sold, made Willy guess too truly 
the cause of the hasty movement. He 
thought it better, however, at first to take 
no apparent notice of the fact that the 
boys had been breaking the Fourth Gom- 

5 



66 THE SABBATH-TREE. 

mandment by buying upon God's holy 
day. 

"Well, my lads/' said Thorn, when he 
came up to them, "you are going, I see 
towards the park. I will go with you ; we 
will enjoy the fresh air and bright sun- 
shine together, and perhaps have a little 
discourse, which may be profitable as well 
as pleasant." 

The boys were usually very fond of the 
society of Willy Thorn ; but just now, with 
their pockets full of cakes and nuts, they 
would have preferred being without it. 
However, no objection was made ; they 
reached the park, and seated themselves 
under the shade of a large tree, for the sun 
was hot, and the shelter of the foliage was 
pleasant on that sultry afternoon. 

Willy Thorn looked upwards at the leafy 
boughs which hung above him, through 
whose screen a long bright ray, here and 
there, pierced like a diamond lance. "This 
tree has put an allegory into my mind," said 
he. "Boys, are you in the mood for a 
story ? " 

A story was always welcome, and in the 



THE SABBATH-TREE. 67 

expectation of being amused, the scholars 
half forgot that their teacher's presence was 
delaying their intended feast. 

"Methought," began Thorn, "that I had 
a dream : and in mv dream I beheld a large 
and venerable tree. It was several thousand 
years old — so vou inav imagine its size : but 
it showed no signs of age ; its leaves were 
as fresh, its fruit as abundant, as when the 
Israelites of old encamped under its refresh- 
ing shade. This tree was called the Sab- 
bath-tree. It was given by its Lord as one 
of the richest blessings which was ever be- 
stowed upon man. Freely might all partake 
of its fruit ; but all were forbidden by a 
voice Divine to break even the smallest 
bough from the sacred tree. 

" I saw in mv dream that manv thronged 
to the spot where the Sabbath-tree rose, like 
a beautiful green temple, in the midst of the 
plain ; and I stood aside to mark the effect 
of its fruit on those who came to gather it. 
It strewed the ground in some places so 
thickly, that it shone like a carpet of gold." 

" I suppose," said Bat Xayland, one of 
the boys, "that the fruits of the Sabbath- 



68 THE SABBATH-TKEE. 

tree are, — going to church, praying, praising, 
and reading the Bible ? " 

Thorn smiled in assent, and continued : 
" I saw one haggard man come, faint with 
hunger, to the spot. He threw himself 
down on the soft grass, and fed eagerly on 
the nourishment freely provided. And I 
marked joy on his pale face as he ate of the 
fruit of the Sabbath-tree, and I remembered 
the holy words, Blessed are they which do 
hunger and thirst after righteousness, for they 
shall he filled. 

" I saw an aged woman reach the tree. 
She was so feeble that she had hardly power 
to stoop to gather the fruit ; but as she 
tasted it, her strength returned, her bent 
form became more erect, she walked with a 
firmer step, and I remembered that it is 
written, They that wait upon the Lord shall 
renew their strength. 

" Next, a miserable sufferer approached ; 
on his countenance was an expression of 
pain. He was sick — grievously sick of the 
malady of sin, fatal to all who cannot find a 
cure. But he knew the healing powers of 
the tree. He fed, and even as he fed health 



THE SABBATH-TREE. 69 

returned to his faded cheek, the anguish of 
his soul passed away, and the sufferer found 
himself whole." 

" I thought/' said the eldest of the boys, 
"that there was but one cure for sin ! " 

"True, most true/' replied Thorn, with an 
approving look ; " but in due observance of 
Sabbath duties, we learn how to seek and 
where to find that cure. 

" I had watched in my dream, with a 
rejoicing heart, thousands gathering the 
precious fruit, and receiving nourishment, 
strength, and healing ; but now, alas ! my 
attention was attracted by yet greater multi- 
tudes, who thronged to the spot only, as I 
became painfully aware, to break and injure 
the beautiful tree. Some enemy had hung 
up a hatchet on its trunk, with Disobedience 
marked on the handle, and of this numbers 
made very free use to cut down large boughs 
from the tree. 

" ' I am going on a jovial merry-making 
in the country,' cried one ; i I and my family 
shall have a treat. I want some wood to 
mend up my broken car.' 

" ' Hold ! ' exclaimed the youth who had 



70 THE SABBATH-TREE. 

been healed, attempting to stay the hand of 
the Sabbath-breaker ; ' are there not six 
groves nigh at hand ? — had you not better 
cut what you want from them ? ' 

" ' No ! ' cried the man impatiently, swing- 
ing the hatchet aloft ; € there is no tree so 
convenient as this ! ' and for the sake of a 
little pleasure in the country with merry 
companions, he cut a branch from the Sab- 
bath-tree ! 

" Then came a woman with a face full of 
care. She had not faith to trust in him who 
clotheth the lilies, and provideth for the 
ravens. ' I want wood for a stall,' said she, 
'whereon to sell my sweetmeats. I must 
earn some more pence for my living; neces- 
sity owns no law ; ' and taking the hatchet 
of Disobedience, she also brought down a 
leafy bough, treading under foot as she did 
so a quantity of the ripe, precious fruit. 
Not content with thus breaking the Sabbath 
herself, she demanded that those who bought 
at her stall should each bring, in addition to 
their money, a fagot stolen from the holy 
tree ! " 

When Thorn came to this part of his 



THE SABBATH-TREE. 71 

story, his scholars glanced consciously at 
each other. They all now felt convinced 
that their teacher was aware that they had 
been buying from a stall on Sunday. 

"It was grievous/' continued Thorn, "to 
see what multitudes trampled on the Sab- 
bath fruit, broke away twigs, snapped 
branches, to help on their business or aid 
their amusements. Some wanted wickets 
for cricket, one man required a handle for 
his spade ; and though a very little delay 
would have enabled them to procure wood 
from a lawful quarter, they were too thought- 
less, too covetous, or too impatient to reve- 
rence the Sabbath-tree. 

" But soon I beheld in my dream, that 
while none could faithfully partake of the 
fruit without benefit, none without injury 
could break off a single branch. As I 
watched, much did I marvel to see how dis- 
obedience brought down punishment ! The 
man who had repaired his car by Sabbath- 
breaking, had little pleasure from his in- 
tended treat. As he was driving from a 
public-house, suddenly a wheel of the vehicle 
came off, he and his party were flung out on 



72 THE SABBATH-TREE. 

the road, and sorely bruised by the fall. In 
some cases, the wood so unlawfully taken 
appeared to turn at once into dust ! The 
man digging with his Sabbath spade, found 
it suddenly snap asunder, and the splinter 
ran into his hand, inflicting a terrible wound." 

" Oh, but how could that be ? " exclaimed 
one of the boys. " Many a fellow goes 
larking on Sunday, and the wheel of his car 
never comes off ! I don't know what this 
part of your story can mean." 

" It means," replied Willy gravely, " that 
disobedience to God, the wilful breaking of 
his holy commandment, unless the sin be 
repented of and renounced, is certain to bring 
punishment in another world, and very fre- 
quently also in this. There are multitudes of 
lost, miserable sinners, who may trace their 
first steps on the path of ruin to breaking 
the Sabbath of God. No one ever yet, on 
his death-bed, could say that he really pro- 
fited by money so gained, or that he had no 
reason to regret a pleasure gained by dis- 
obeying his Maker's command. 

" The poor woman who sold sweetmeats, I 
found in my dream, was not long in suffering 



THE SABBATH-TREE. 73 

the penalty of disobedience. In one of the 
fagots so sinfully laid upon her stall, the 
serpent Remorse had lain coiled, unnoticed, 
unseen ! As she was counting her unholy 
gains, made by not only sinning herself, but 
causing others to sin, the fierce reptile darted 
at her breast ! — with difficulty was the ser- 
pent torn from its hold, and the poor sufferer 
sank on the ground, bleeding, fainting, trem- 

O * O 7 O 7 

bling at her danger, and weeping for her sin ! 
It was some time before she was able feebly 
to creep to the sj)ot where comfort and 
healing might yet be procured by a proper 
use of the fruits of the Sabbath-tree. 

" While the poor woman was in sorrowful 
penitence, doing all that lay in her power to- 
show her regret for the past, the boys who 
had purchased at her stall — who had wilfully 
broken the Sabbath, not to supply real 
wants, but to indulge their own greedy in- 
clinations — " 

" I'll tell you what one of them did, sir ! " 
exclaimed Bat Nayland, springing up from 
the ground : " he just emptied his pockets- 
of what he had bought, said that he was 

C5 7 

heartily ashamed, and seeing an old lame 



74 



THE SABBATH-TREE. 




THE LAME BEGGAR. 



beggar near, lie gave every crumb of his 
purchases to hira ! " 

And suiting his action to his words, off 



THE SABBATH-TREE. 75 

darted the boy, and astonished a ragged old 
man on crutches, by bestowing upon him at 
once all his cakes and his nuts ! 

Dear young readers ! if any of you have 
been tempted to disobey your Master's com- 
mandment, by buying on the day which the 
Lord hath set apart for himself, oh, consider 
it not as a trifling' transgression. 

Resolve with prayer henceforth never to 
break the smallest twig from the Sabbath- 
tree, but to feed on its sacred fruits with 
faith, and hope, and love. Be assured, then, 
dear children, that they will become sweeter 
and sweeter to your taste, and prepare you 
for the enjoyment of that Tree of Life which 
is in the midst of the paradise of God. 








IX. 



THE WHITE EOBE. 




a II AT was that noise in the street ? " 
exclaimed Mrs. Claremont, laying 
down the pen suddenly. Ella 
sprang to the window. 

" mother, something must 
have happened ! some accident ! there is 
a crowd collecting round a poor little 
girl ! " 

" We may be of some use ! " cried Mrs. 
Claremont, and she and her daughter were 
at the street door in a few seconds. 

" What is the matter ? is any one hurt 1 " 
inquired the lady of a milk-woman who was 
standing looking on. 

"A child knocked down by a horse, I 



THE WHITE ROBE. 77 

believe, ma'am. They should take the poor 
thing to the hospital.'' 

Mrs. Claremont waited to hear no more ; 
the crowd made way for her, and she was 
soon at the side of a young girl who was 
crying violently, and the state of whose 
crushed bonnet and soiled dress showed that 
she had been down on the road. 

" I don't think there's any bones broken, 
only she's frightened," observed a baker 
among the spectators ; "I saw the horse 
knock her down as she was crossing the 
road." 

" Come this way, my poor child, out of 
the crowd," said Mrs. Claremont, leading 
the little girl towards the house ; " we will 
soon see if the injury is severe." 

The weeping child soon stood in the hall ; 
hartshorn and water was brought to her by 
Ella, but on tasting it, the girl pushed it 
away in disgust, in a peevish and irritable 
manner. In vain Mrs. Claremont sought 
for any trace of injury ; the road had been 
soft after much rain, and not a scratch nor a 
bruise appeared ; yet still the girl cried as if 
in agony of pain or of passion. 



78 



THE WHITE ROBE. 



" "Where are you hurt ? " inquired Ella 
soothingly ; the child only answered by a 
fresh burst of tears. 

" I am thankful that no harm seems done/' 
said Mrs. Claremont. 

" There is harm ! " sobbed the girl ; "all 
spoiled, quite, quite spoiled ! " 

"What is spoiled?" 




THE SPOILED DRESS. 



" My dress, my beautiful new dress ! " and 
the ladies now observed, for the first time, 
the absurd and unsuitable manner in which 



THE WHITE ROBE. 79 

the child had been clothed. Now, indeed, 
her finery was half covered with mud ; but 
the pink bonnet, though 'crushed, the white 
dress, though stained and torn, the gay blue 
necklace, and hair in curl-papers, showed 
too plainly the folly of the wearer. 

" What is your name ? " inquired Ella. 

" Sophy Trimmer." 

" Where does your father live ? " 

" He lives just round the corner." 

" You should be very thankful that 
your life has been spared," said Mrs. Clare- 
mont. 

Sophy did not look at all thankful, she 
only glanced sadly down on her torn dress, 
and whimpered, "Just new on to-day." 

"You remind me," said the lady, "of a 
story which I read in the papers some years 
ago. A lady was going in a vessel to Scot- 
land, and carried with her a quantity of 
jewels to the value of a thousand pounds. 
She thought so much of these jewels, that 
she was heard to say, that she would almost 
as soon part with life itself as lose them. 
An accident happened to the vessel on the 
way to Scotland ; the water rushed into 



80 THE WHITE ROBE. 

the cabins, and the poor lady was taken out 
drowned." 

" That is a shocking story/' said Sophy. 

" She could not carry her jewels with her 
to another world. But there is one orna- 
ment which even death itself has no power 
to take away." 

" What can that ornament be ? " 

u An ornament more precious than the 
crown of the Queen, 'the ornament of a 
meek and quiet spirit, which is, in the sight 
of God, of great price' (1 Pet. iii. 4). The 
poorest may wear this — the rich are poor 
without it. my child, care not to appear 
fair in the eyes of your fellow-mortals, but 
in the sight of God ; your ' adorning, let it 
not be that outward adorning of plaiting the 
hair, and of wearing of gold, or of putting 
on of apparel ; but let it be the hidden man 
of the heart, in that which is not corrupt- 
ible ' " (1 Pet. iii. 3, 4). 

"What do you mean by 'corruptible?' 
said Sophy. 

" That which time can destroy. Nothing 
in this world lasts for ever : flowers bloom 
and decay; the fruit which was delicious 



THE WHITE ROBE. 81 

one week, the next is only fit to be thrown 
away ; the loveliest face grows wrinkled : 
the finest form must soon turn to dust in 
the tomb." 

" I don't like to think of such things/ 5 
said Sophy; "they make me sad." 

" They would make us sad, indeed, were 
this w^orld our all. But we look forward, in 
faith, to a place where there is no corruption, 
no change, no death, because no sin ; we hope 
to wear white robes in heaven which will 
never be defiled with a stain. Do you know, 
Sophy, what makes them so white ? " 

Sophy shook her head. 

" We are all weak and sinful, less fit to 
appear before a holy God in our own right- 
eousness, than you are to enter the Queen's 
palace in those soiled garments. It is ' the 
blood of Jesus Christ which cleansethfrom all 
sin ; ' through his merits, and his mercy, you 
may appear spotless before the judgment- 
seat of God, if you believe in him now, and 
'keep yourself from idols." 

" I have nothing to do with idols," said 
the girl peevishly. 

" More perhaps than you think. Anything 



82 THE WHITE KOBE. 

that you love better than the Lord is an idol. 
The miser loves money best; that is his idol." 

" Like old Levi, who half starves himself 
to scrape up pence/' interrupted Sophy. 

" The ambitious man makes power his 
idol — some make their children their idols." 

" Like Mrs. Porter, who — " 

" Hush/' said Mrs. Claremont, "you have 
nothing to do with the idols of your neigh- 
bours ; try and find out what is your own." 

" I do not think that I have any." 

"Do you then love God with all your 
heart ? Is it your chief business to serve 
him ; your greatest delight to do his will ? " 

" No ; of course, I like to amuse myself 
like other people." 

" Have you ever given up any one thing 
to show your love to him who made you ? " 

Sophy looked vexed, but made no reply. 

" "Whom do you like best to please \ 
Whom do you like best to serve ? Have 
you no idol which you decked out this very 
morning in all the finery which you could 
collect % " 

" I suppose that you mean myself'' 

" Yes ; self is the idol of the vain, their 



THE WHITE KOBE. 83 

hopes and joys are bound up in self, there- 
fore their hopes and joys are amongst the 
corruptible things which must pass away. 
my young friend, the foolish pleasures 
which you felt this morning in these fanciful 
clothes, in one moment was changed to pain; 
and but for the mercy of God, your own 
poor body might now have been lying 
crushed and lifeless. Why rest your happi- 
ness upon that which cannot last, and which 
may, any hour, be taken away from you for 
ever ( 

" Gay, gaudy clothing always gives me a 
feeling of pain when I look upon it," ob- 
served Ella ; "I believe that with so many 
it has been the first step to misery here and 
hereafter." 

"It is like the gay bait on the hook," 
said her mother, " not in itself deadly, but 
covering a fatal snare. Oh, 'love not the 
world, neither the things that are in the 
world. If any man love the world, the love 
of the Father is not in him. And the world 
passeth away, and the lust thereof : but he 
that doeth the will of God abideth for ever 
(1 John ii. 15, 17). 





IHERE was unusual silence in the little 
Sunday school when Ella Claremont, 
its gentle teacher, entered it for the 
first time in deep mourning. All 
had known of her sorrow ; all had 
heard that her brave young brother had 
died of wounds received in battle in a far 
distant land. They thought of him whom 
they had seen some few months before so 
bright and happy, with a smile and a kind 
word for all, now lying cold in his bloody 
grave ; and there was not a heart in the 
school-room which did not feel sorrow and 
sympathy. 

Ella could not at first address her school ; 



CROSSES. 85 

her words seemed choked ; the tears gathered 
slowly in her eyes ; but she found strength 
in silent prayer, and spoke at length to her 
pupils, but in a trembling voice. 

"Dear children, I have had much sorrow 
since we last met and talked of the joys of 
heaven — a beloved brother has, I trust, 
through Christ's merits, joined the bright 
hosts rejoicing there. But should not I 
meekly bear the cross which my heavenly 
Father sees good to send me ? To every 
one passing through this life is given a cross 
— a trial to bear. To some it is so light 
that they scarcely feel it ; with others so 
heavy that it bows them to the dust. Each 
of you knows, or will know, its weight. 
But let none be afraid nor cast down. The 
cross prepares for the crown. There is 
something from God's Word inscribed on 
every cross ; and if we have but faith to 
read it, it makes the heavy, light ; and the 
bitter, sweet ! ' Blessed are the dead which 
die in the Lord ' (Be v. xiv. 13), is the inscrip- 
tion on mine." 

Every one passing through life has some 
cross to bear ! Yes ; amongst those young 



86 CROSSES. 

girls assembled in the school-room there 
were some whose trials were deep, who had 
much need to read the inscription to make 
them endure the burden. 

Dear reader, are you in trial ? Have you 
known what it was to weep when you had 
none to comfort you — to wish that the 
weary day were over, or the more weary 
night at an end — to wonder why God sent 
you such sorrows ? For you I now write 
down w^hat were the crosses of some of the 
children in Ella's school ; for you I write 
down what were the inscriptions upon them. 
Perhaps you may find amongst them the 
same trial as your own, and feel strengthened 
to bear your cross. 

Mary Edwards was very poor — hers was 
a heavy cross. One of seven children, and 
her father blind ; often and often had she 
come to school faint with hunger and sick 
at heart. But for the kindness of friends, 
the family would have been half-starved. 
Mary had never known what it was to have 
a blanket to cover "her; very seldom had 
she been able to eat till she was satisfied ; 
her clothes had been mended over and over 



CROSSES. S7 

again, to keep them from falling to pieces ; 
ill did they protect her when the cold wind 
blew through the broken pane, or found its 
way through the crevices in her miserable 
hut. Yet Mary had comfort in the midst 
of her poverty ; she remembered him " who, 
though he was rich, yet for our sakes he be- 
came poor." She had read the inscription 
on her cross : " Hath not God chosen the 
poor of this world rich in faith, and heirs of 
the kingdom which he hath promised to 
them that love him ? " (James ii. 5). And 
Mary would meekly repeat the hymn of 
good Bishop Heber : — 

" The cross our Master bore for us, 

For hirti we fain would bear ; 
But mortal strength to weakness turns, 

And courage to despair. 
Then pity all our frailty, Lord, 

Our failing strength renew ; 
And when thy sorrows visit us, 

Oh, send thy patience too ! " 

Amy Blackstone never spoke of her cross ; 
she bore it in silence without complaining. 
Her father was a drunkard — her mother 
never entered the house of God. If she 
heard the name of the Holy One uttered in 
her home, it was but in an oath or a pro- 



CROSSES. 



fane jest. She never complained, as I have 
said ; for, while others would have been 
complaining, she was praying. Fervently 
did she pray for her unhappy parents — fer- 
vently for herself, that evil example might 
not draw T her from God. Many a silent 
tear she shed over her cross ; and this was 
the inscription upon it : "I reckon that the 
sufferings of this present time are not worthy 
to be compared with the glory which shall 
be revealed in us" (Rom. viii. 18). 

All pitied Ellen Payne, for her cross was 
sharp. A lingering, painful disease had 
taken the strength from her limbs, the 
colour from her cheek. She never rejoiced 
in one waking hour free from pain, and 
often the night passed without sleep. The 
doctors gave no hope, medicine no relief. 
She had nothing to look forward to but 
pain, increasing pain, till she should sink 
into an early grave. This was her cross ; 
and this was the inscription upon it : " Be 
thou faithful unto death, and I will give 
thee a crown of life" (Rev. ii. 10). 

Jane White had been a deserted child ; 
she had never known a parent's care. She 



CROSSES. 89 

seemed one of the neglected, despised ones 
of earth, with none to love her, and none to 
love. She felt lonely and desolate. This 
was her cross ; and this was the inscription 
upon it : " When ray father and my mother 
forsake me, then the Lord will take me up " 
(Ps. xxvii. 10). 

Ann Brown lived with her aunt. Few 
of the girls were better dressed, or seemed 




ANN BROWN. 



more comfortably provided for, than she. 
Had she, then, no cross to bear ? Yes ; for 



•90 CROSSES. 



she dwelt with a worldly family, who laughed 
at her for being "righteous overmuch." 
When she would not join in profaning the 
Sabbath — when she showed that she cared 
not for gay dressing or ill-natured gossip — 
she became the object of ridicule and scoffs, 
more painful to bear than blows. This was 
her cross ; but sweet was the inscription 
upon it : " If ye suffer for righteousness' 
sake, happy are ye : and be not afraid of 
their terror, neither be troubled" (1 Pet. 
hi. 14). 

Mary Wade's cross was in the depth of 
her own heart — the struggle to conquer a 
passionate, violent temper. She desired to 
obey God, she wished to live to his glory ; 
but sin seemed too strong for her ; she 
yielded to temptation again and again, until 
she was almost in despair. Her health had 
been bad when she was an infant ; much of 
her peevishness and impatience were owing 
to the effects of this. But no one seemed 
to make allowance for natural infirmity ; her 
companions did not like her ; and, worst of 
all, she felt that she was sinning, and bring- 
ing discredit on the Christian name. Poor 



CROSSES. 91 

child ! hers was an unpitied cross ; but 
there was hope in the inscription upon it : 
" There hath no temptation taken you but 
such as is common to man : but God is 
faithful, who will not suffer you to be 
tempted above that ye are able ; but will 
with the temptation also make a way to 
escape, that ye may be able to bear it " 
(1 Cor. x. 13). 

Elizabeth Brown was a sad little girl, but 
none knew the cause of her sadness. She 
had once been the most thoughtless child in 
the school, full of mischief, full of gaiety, 
never thinking of God. Her heart had 
been on earth — her only wish had been to 
enjoy herself. Much trouble and sorrow 
had she given to her gentle teacher, much 
grief to her pious parents ; for she had 
laughed at good advice, and cared little for 
punishment. But now the gay child had 
grown thoughtful ; a text heard at church 
had struck her, and sunk deep into her heart : 
" Be not deceived ; God is not mocked : for 
whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also 
reap. For he that soweth to his flesh, shall 
of the flesh reap corruption ; but he that 



92 CROSSES. 



soweth to the Spirit, shall of the Spirit reap 
life everlasting" (Gal. vi. 7, 8). What had 
she been sowing for eternity ? She thought 
of her neglected Bible, her broken Sabbaths, 
words of untruth and of unkindness, her 
mother disobeyed, her teacher disregarded ! 
Could God forgive her after all that she had 
done ? Would he ever admit her to heaven? 
She feared that her sins were too many to 
be pardoned. This fear was her cross. 
Oh ! praised be God for the precious in- 
scription upon it : " The blood of Jesus 
Christ his Son cleanseth us from all sin" 
(1 John i. 7). Jesus said, "Him that 
cometh to me I will in no wise cast out " 
(John vi. 37). 

Blessed are they who thus mourn for sin, 
for they shall be comforted. Blessed is the 
sorrow that worketh repentance ! Blessed 
are they who so bear the cross that they 
shall inherit the crown ! 








XL 



THE TWO COUNTRIES. 




?HEN walking through the streets 
of London, have you not some- 
times met a party of strangers, 
and felt sure that they belonged 
to another land, because they 
spoke not the English tongue ? Had you 
listened to them, you would not have under- 
stood them ; they conversed in the language 
of their own country. 

My young friend, what language do you 
speak ? If I knew but that, I should soon 
guess to what country you belong. 

Perhaps you answer, " I am English. I 
know no language but my own." True, in 
one sense you are English, and you may 



94 



THE TWO COUNTRIES. 




FOREIGNERS. 



in 



thank God for it ! You were born 
England, and here may spend all the years 
or days of your mortal life. But your real 
country is in another world, where you will 
live for ever ! Thousands and millions of 
years may pass, but you will be still remain- 
ing in the country which you have chosen. 
So, again I ask, "What language do you 
speak ? To what country do you belong ? 



THE TWO COUNTRIES. 95 

The one is a bright and glorious place, 
where sorrow and pain are unknown.. Its- 
citizens are angels and redeemed saints, who, 
with shining crowns and harps of gold, 
rejoice before the throne of God. The 
language which they speak is truth. 

The other country is too terrible to 
describe. Happiness never enters there, 
but pain, grief, and remorse abide for ever ! 
Its inhabitants are the tempter and his evil 
ones — hardened sinners who would not 
repent, who chose the broad way that 
leadeth to destruction. And what is the 
language which its citizens have learned 1 
The language of Satan is falsehood. 

my dear young reader, with anxious 
love would I once more repeat my question 
— let your heart answer it — What language' 
do you speak — to what country do you 
belong? 

Yet, mistake me not. There are some 
whose lips were never stained with false- 
hood, who yet cannot be counted among the 
citizens of heaven. The proud, the self- 
righteous, who trust to their own merits, 
who love not the Saviour who suffered for 



96 THE TWO COUNTRIES. 

all, — these may have learned the language 
of truth, even as foreigners may learn the 
tongue of our land ; but they belong not to 
the country of holiness and joy. 

And others there are who have fallen 
into sin, whom the " father of lies " has 
tempted and deceived ; yet God's mercy 
may prepare a heavenly home even for 
them, if, believing and repenting, they turn 
to the truth. Thus, St. Peter thrice uttered 
a terrible falsehood, but repented with 
bitter tears, and, through the atoning blood 
of his Lord, was received into heaven a 
glorious martyr. 

But oh, dread a falsehood as you would 
dread a serpent ; it leaves a stain and a sting 
behind. If you have ever been led into this 
deadly sin, implore for pardon, like St. Peter. 
Like St. Peter, when next placed in tempta- 
tion, speak the truth firmly, faithfully, fear- 
lessly ; for truth is the language of heaven. 

There are four chief causes which lead to 
the guilt of lying— -folly, covetousness, malice, 
and fear. Examine your own life, and see 
if any one of these has ever tempted you to 
utter a falsehood. 



THE TWO COUNTRIES. 97 

It was folly which made Richard tell a 
traveller the wrong road when asked the 
way to the next village. He thought little 
of the sin of his lie — it seemed to him but 
an excellent jest ; but the jest cost a. neigh- 
bour his life ! The stranger was a doctor, 
travelling in haste to attend a patient who 
had been taken with a fit. Richard's false- 
hood made the medical man lose half an 
hour, when every minute was precious. 
Oh, what anxious hearts awaited his arrival ! 
But he came too late ; he found the sufferer 
at the point of death, with his desolate 
family weeping around him ! 

It was covetousness which made Sally 
declare that her fruit had only been gathered 
that morning, when she knew it to be the 
refuse of yesterday's market. Did she for- 
get that God's eye was upon her — that her 
words could not pass unnoticed by him — 
that she would have to answer for them at 
the day of judgment ? 

It is covetousness that makes Nelly stand 
begging in the streets, telling to passers-by 
her pitiful tale of a father in hospital and a 
family starving. Will the money which 

(324) 7 *. 



98 THE TWO COUNTRIES. 

she gains by falsehood and hypocrisy bring 
with it a blessing or a curse % Oh, " What 
is a man profited, if he shall gain the whole 
world, and lose his own soul ? or what shall 
a man give in exchange for his soul ? " 
(Matt. xvi. 26). 

It is malice that makes Eliza invent 
strange stories of her neighbours. She 
delights to spread a slander, or to give an 
ill name. She mixes a little truth with 
a great deal of falsehood, and cares not 
what misery she inflicts. Whom does she 
resemble ? Not the citizens of Zion. What 
language does she speak ? Not the language 
of Heaven. 

It was cowardice which drew Peter into 
falsehood when asked who had broken the 
china vase : he dreaded a blow ; he dared 
not speak the truth. Do you not blush for 
him, little reader, who feared man rather 
than God ? 

How different is Margaret Lacy ! Neither 
covetousness nor cowardice could ever make 
her pollute her lips with a lie. She serves 
a God of truth ; she is learning on earth the 
language of heaven. 



THE TWO COUNTRIES. 



99 



She was met one day returning, with, a 
sorrowful step and tearful eye, from a house 
to which she had gone to try for a place. 
"Well, Margaret," said Mrs. Porter, "why 
so sad ? I fear that you have not suc- 
ceeded." 

"No, indeed," sighed the poor girl. 




MARGARET AND MRS. PORTER. 



" And how was that ? I thought that 
you were pretty sure of being settled there 
comfortably." 

"Why," replied Margaret, "the lady 
asked me why I had left my last place ; so 
I told her that both I and the cook had 



100 , THE TWO COUNTEIES. 

been sent away because a bank-note had 
been lost in the house." 

" You were not so mad as to tell her that ? " 

" It was the truth" calmly answered Mar- 
garet. " What else could I have told ? " 

"Well," said Mrs. Porter, "at that rate 
you will never get a place." 

" God help me ! " said poor Margaret, 
meekly. " He will not let me starve for 
obeying his word. I never touched the 
bank-note." 

" I believe you," answered her neighbour ; 
"for I do not think that you ever spoke an 
untruth in your life." 

And Margaret did get a place. Carter, 
the butcher, engaged her the next day. 
" Say nothing against her to me," he cried. 
" I know the girl ; she would sooner touch 
red-hot iron than money that was not hers. 
And as for truth, I'd take her word against 
the oaths of a dozen ! " 

Once, as Margaret was cleaning out the 
parlour, not perceiving her master's new 
watch, which lay on the table concealed by 
a newspaper, she threw it by accident down 
to the ground. Startled and alarmed, she 



THE TWO COUNTRIES. 101 

raised it and put it to her ear, longing to 
hear the regular beat, which might show 
that it was unhurt. Alas ! all was quite 
still — what mischief she had done ! Mar- 
garet dreaded her master, who was a pas- 
sionate man ; she dreaded, perhaps, losing 
her place. She might have replaced the 
watch on the table, and said nothing ; its 
stopping might be thought accidental. But 
Margaret would not stoop to hide the truth 
any more than to tell a lie. With a beating 
heart and a trembling hand she carried the 
watch to her master, and confessed the 
whole truth. Was she dismissed or struck, 
as she had feared that she might be ? No ; 
Carter, vexed as he was, could not but 
admire her honesty and candour. 

" Well, Margaret," he cried, " were your 
life to depend on it, I don't believe you 
would buy life itself with a lie." 

Can this be said of you, reader ? If not, 
oh, pray for forgiveness of your sin, and for 
grace from this hour to forsake it. May 
God enable you to speak the truth from 
your heart, and to learn upon earth the 
language of heaven ! 




XII. 
DO YOU LOYE GOD? 




|HE following anecdote was given as 
a fact by a clergyman at Hamp- 
stead, in a sermon to children : — 

A gentleman, travelling on a 
railway, was much struck by the 
vivacity of a lovely little girl about five 
years of age, who, with her mother, hap- 
pened to be travelling in the same carriage, 
and he took a great deal of notice of the 
child. About ten minutes before the train 
reached the station at which the lady and 
her daughter were to alight, the little one 
went up to the gentleman, and putting her 
lips close to his ear, asked softly, "Do you 
love God ? " 



DO YOU LOVE GOD ? 



103 



The traveller, who apparently was not a 
devout man, was so startled by the unex- 
pected question, that he coloured to the 




THE CHILD S QUESTION. 



roots of his hair ; and the child, seeing his 
confusion, and probably frightened at her 
own boldness, retreated, and hid her face on 
her mother's bosom until the train stopped 
at the station. 

But her solemn question had sunk deep 
into the mind of the traveller. " Do you 
love God ? " he repeated to himself again 
and again. For a long period the words 
haunted him, till at length he was able to 



104 DO YOU LOVE GOD ? 

give to them the only reply which a true 
Christian can give. 

About two years afterwards, the gentleman 
happened to be in the town at which he had 
left his little fellow-traveller on that never- 
to-be-forgotten day. While passing along 
it, he fancied that he saw at a window the 
face of the mother of the child. His desire 
to see the little one to whom he owed so 
much was so great, that he could not refrain 
from knocking at the door and introducing 
himself to the lady. Upon seeing her, he 
inquired after her lovely child. The lady 
was dressed in mourning. God had sent 
her heavy affliction ; her sweet girl now 
slept in the silent tomb. The mother took 
the stranger to a room, in which were laid 
out various trifles which had belonged to 
her darling. 

" It may interest you to see these," she 
said ; " these are all that remain of my child." 

" Oh no ! " exclaimed the traveller ; " here 
am I ! " and he related to the wondering 
parent how the word spoken in season by 
those infant lips had been the means of 
leading him to his God. 



DO YOU LOVE GOD ? 105 

Even that feeble child had done her work 
for her Master before he called her to her 
rest ; even that feeble child had been given 
a soul to be her " joy and crown of rejoicing 
for ever." 

dear young reader ! how would you 
now answer that whispered question, " Do 
you love God ? " Could your heart give 
the reply, "/ love him because he first loved 
us"? 





XIII. 
THE IMPERFECT COPY. 




ALWAYS busy at your drawing, 
Edwin ? h said his elder brother 
Henry, as he entered the school- 
room one morning. 

Edwin looked up for a moment 
with a smile, and then went on 
tracing with evident pleasure the outline of 
a face. His brother came behind him, and 
looked over his shoulder ; Edwin listened for 
his remarks, though without ceasing to draw. 
" You are taking pains, I see," said Henry 
at last in a kindly tone ; " but I am afraid 
that you will have to use your india-rubber 
here, and here ; these lines, you may per- 
ceive, are not in good drawing." 



THE IMPERFECT COPY. 107 

" I don't see much wrong in them/ 5 re- 
plied Edwin, suspending his pencil, with 
something of vexation in his tone, for he 
had expected nothing but praise. 

" If you compare them with your study, 
you will perceive that all this outline is in- 
correct. Where is the study ? " asked Henry, 
looking in vain for it on the table. 

" Oh, it's somewhere up-stairs," said Ed- 
win. " I remember very well what it is 
like, and can go on without looking at 
it every minute." 

" Would you oblige me by bringing it ? " 
said his brother. 

Edwin w^ent up-stairs, rather unwillingly, 
and soon brought down a beautiful study ; a 
face most perfect in form and expression. 

Henry silently put the two pictures to- 
gether. Edwin gazed with bitter disappoint- 
ment on his own copy, which but a few T 
minutes before he had thought so good. 

" I shall never get it right ! " Edwin ex- 
claimed, in a burst of vexation ; and snatch- 
ing up the unfortunate drawing, he would 
have torn it asunder, had he not been pre- 
vented by his brother. 



108 



the imperfect copy. 




THE BROTHER'S CRITICISM. 



" My dear Edwin, you have doubly erred ; 
first in being too easily satisfied, and then in 
being too easily discouraged." 

" I shall never make it like that beautiful 
face ! " cried the disheartened boy. 

" You need patience, you need help, you 
need, above all, often to look at your copy." 

Edwin took up the pencil which he had 
flung down, and carefully and attentively 
studied the picture. He found very much 
in his copy to alter, very much to rub out ; 



THE IMPERFECT COPY. 109 

but at last he completed a very fair sketch, 
which he presented, with a little hesitation, 
to his brother. 

" I shall have this framed, and hung up 
in my room," said Henry. 

" Oh, it is not worth that ! " exclaimed 
Edwin, colouring with pleasure and sur- 
prise. 

"JSTot in itself, perhaps," replied Henry ; 
" but it will serve often to remind us both 
of an important truth which was suggested 
to me when I saw you labouring 1 at vour 
copy." 

Edwin looked in surprise at his brother, 
who thus proceeded to explain his words : — 

" We, dear Edwin, as Christians, have all 
one work set before us : to copy into our 
lives the example set us by a heavenly 
Master. It is in the Bible that we behold 
the features of a character perfect and pure. 
But how many of us choose rather to imagine 
for ourselves what a Christian should be 
like ! We aim low ; we are content with 
little progress ; we perhaps please ourselves 
with the thought of our own wisdom and 
goodness, while every one but ourselves can 



110 THE IMPERFECT COPY. 

see that our copy is wretched and worth- 
less." 

" What are we to do ? " asked Edwin. 

" We must closely examine the study set 
us in the Bible ; we must compare our lives 
with God's law ; and we shall then soon find 
enough of weakness and sin to make us 
humble ourselves before God. When we 
read of the meekness and gentleness of 
Christ, we shall be ashamed of our own 
passion and pride ; w^hen we find how 
holy was our great Example, we shall be 
grieved to think how unlike to him we 
are." 

" We can never make a good copy/' 
sighed Edwin ; " we may just give up the 
attempt at once." 

" You judge as you did when you wished 
to tear up your picture in despair, as soon as 
you saw how imperfect it was. No, no, my 
dear boy; I say to you now, as I said to you 
then, you need patience, you need help, help 
from the good Spirit of God ; and, above 
all, you need to look often at your study, to 
keep the character and work of your Lord 
ever before your eyes." 



THE IMPERFECT COPY. Ill 

" But if I do my best, I shall still fall so 
shgrt ! " 

"I know it/' said Henry gravely ; "but 
feeling that you never can reach perfection 
here, should not prevent your aiming at it. 
God will complete his work in the hearts of 
his servants, not on earth, but in heaven. 
There the copy, feebly commenced below, 
shall be made a likeness indeed ! For what 
says the Word of God : We know that when 
he shall appear we shall be like him, for ice 
shall see him as he is ! " 

"To see the Lord, and to be made like 
him ; it seems too much to hope for ! " cried 
Edwin. 

u It is not more than God has promised," 
replied Henry, " to those who come to the 
Saviour by faith. Worthless as our copy is 
in itself, it will be glorified, made beautiful, 
made perfect ; and will be raised to a place 
of honour in the mansions of our heavenlv 
Father ! " 








- - <mMSM 




XIV. 
A STOEY OF THE CRIMEA. 




DARESAY that you have heard of 
the war in the Crimea. Perhaps 
you have a father or a brother in 
the army, and have often listened 
to stories of the brave and noble 
conduct of pur soldiers on the terrible field 
of battle. I am going to tell you of one of 
the bravest and noblest actions that happened 
during the whole course of the war, though 
my hero never drew a sword nor fired a 
musket at the Russians. 

After the fearful battle of Alma, when 
the victory had been won by the English 
and the French, after the cannon had 
ceased to roar or the foe to fight, a long 



A STORY OF THE CRIMEA. 113 

painful task remained for the victors — to 
attend to the wounded and to bury the dead. 

At last our poor sufferers were removed 
to the ships, and only mounds of earth 
showed where hundreds of the killed lay in 
their bloody graves ; and the army was 
ready to move on to attack the enemy in 
another place. 

But more than seven hundred poor fellows 
were still stretched on the ground — not, like 
the dead, beyond reach of earthly pain, 
but covered with wounds and gore — some 
with their legs and arms shot away, some 
unable to move, groaning in terrible agony, 
and wishing in vain for death to put an end 
to their misery. 

And who, do you think, were these wounded 
men ? They were Russians, and our enemies ! 
Their bayonets had been red with the blood 
of our brave soldiers ; they had fired the 
shots which made so many widows and 
orphans in England. And now, what was 
to be done with all these miserable sufferers ? 
Our army could not carry them along with 
it ; they must be left behind. Poor help- 
less Russians ! if none dressed their wounds, 

(324) o * 



114 A STORY OF THE CRIMEA. 

they must perish ; if none gave them food, 
they must starve. 

There was a British surgeon, of the name 
of Thomson, who resolved to separate him- 
self from all his friends, to stay behind to 
take care of his wounded enemies. We may 
fancy that he had a long struggle in his 
mind before he could decide upon this 
generous act. Selfishness might whisper to 
him many reasons for leaving the poor 
Russians to their fate. 

" What ! " we can imagine some friend 
saying to the surgeon, " would you remain 
here alone in the midst of enemies, some of 
whom, it is said, have even fired at English- 
men who were bringing them relief. If the 
Tartars should attack you, who will defend 
you ? You cannot depend upon these 
wounded Russians. Then think of the 
labour which you are undertaking. No one 
man can possibly dress the wounds of seven 
hundred ; you can only help a few, or die 
yourself of fatigue. No, be wise ; leave 
these wretched men to the chance of some 
of their own people coming to assist them ; 
you know that there is not one amongst 



A STORY OF THE CRIMEA. 



115 



them who would not have willingly killed 
you, had it been in his power." 

Dr. Thomson may have heard words such 
as these, but they did not change his generous 
resolution. The British army marched away ; 
he and his soldier-servant remained behind, 
saw their friends and comrades all disappear 
in the distance, and then turned to their 
noble but sickening work, — binding up the 
ghastly wounds of their enemies. 




NOBLE WORK. 



Do you not think that Dr. Thomson 
deserved a rich reward for all this ? I do 



116 A STORY OF THE CRIMEA. 

not doubt that he has received a reward, 
but not from man, for his labours of love 
shortened his life. In a few days the 
generous, self-devoted surgeon followed to 
the grave the brave soldiers who died fight- 
ing for their Queen. And shall not his 
name be honoured as well as theirs ? We 
trust that he died prepared for the great 
change, full of faith and hope as well as 
charity ; and we may also trust that some 
of those whose lives he had been the means 
of saving lived to know their Saviour, and 
to serve God upon earth, and that they 
will one day meet their generous friend in 
heaven. 

But it is not of Dr. Thomson that I would 
speak to you now, but of One of whose 
mercy and love all the noblest deeds of his 
servants are but as a faint, dim shadow. 

And first let me ask you, dear child, Do 
you know what sin is, that from which all 
sorrow comes ? It is sin that causes cruelty 
and strife in the world. It is sin that gives 
a worse wound than any sword or cannon- 
ball ; for they may destroy the body, but sin 
destroys the soul. 



A STORY OF THE CRIMEA. 117 

And now let me ask you another question : 
Do you know that we are all by nature 
wounded by sin ; that we are all unable to 
help ourselves, even like those poor Russians ; 
that if left to ourselves we must all die — 1 
mean, lose the everlasting life of heaven ? 

Yes ; this was the state of the whole 
world. It was all lying in wickedness, 
therefore lying in danger ; and not one of 
us could have been saved — no, not one — had 
not the Lord Jesus Christ, the Son of Gocl, 
taken pity on our sad state, and left heaven 
and all its glory, its light, and its joy, to 
come and labour to help miserable sinners. 
Not only did he labour, but he died to save 
us ; he suffered himself to be nailed to the 
cross, that he might heal the wounds which 
sin had made, and give us health and life 
never-ending ! 

But perhaps you will say : "I do not 
think that I am among the wounded. I do 
not think that I need any one to save me. 1 ' 

Oh ! my child, have you ever thought 
over your life, or recalled your actions, 
words, and thoughts, during one day ? Have 
you never been disobedient to a parent, or 



118 A STORY OF THE CRIMEA. 

unkind to a companion 1 Has your mouth 
never spoken words that were ill-natured or 
false ? Have you never been proud, discon- 
tented, or selfish ? Does not your conscience 
tell you that you have been wounded by 
sin? Now, let me tell you how you may 
find healing. 

And, first, you must believe on the Lord 
Jesus Christ ; you must believe that he died 
for sinners, and that he is willing to save all 
who ask him for pardon and mercy.. 

Then you must be sorry for and leave off 
your sins, praying to God to help you to 
amend. A child who says that he repents, 
and then goes and sins just as readily as be- 
fore, is like a wounded man who, when the 
surgeon has dressed the injured place, tears 
off the bandage and will not let it heal. 

And oh ! you must love the Saviour with 
your whole heart. Can you help loving him 
who has loved you so much ? Think of the 
glory which he left ; was it not left for you ? 
Think of the blood which he shed ; did it 
not flow for you ? Think of the death 
which he endured ; was it not borne for 
you ? 




XV. 



: I HAVE A HOME. A HAPPY HOME ! " 




HAVE a home, a happy home, 
And friends to love me there ; 
With daily bread 

fl still am fed, 
Have still warm clothes to wear ; 
I've health and strength in every limb, — 

How grateful should I be ! 
How shall I show my love to Him 
Who shows such love to me ! 



Many are blind, or deaf, or lame,- 
I hear the sweet birds sing, 

Can bound along 

With joyful song, 
Can watch the flowers of spring. 



120 "I HAVE A HOME, A HAPPY HOME." 

No wasting pain my eye to dim, 
From want and sickness free ; 

How shall I show my love to Him 
Who shows such love for me ! 

And blessings greater still than these 
A gracious God has given, — 
The precious word 
Of Christ our Lord, 
To guide my feet to heaven. 
Among the shining cherubim 
I trust my home shall be ; 
How shall I show my love to him 
Who shows such love to me ! 

My God ! I ani~a feeble child, 
Oh, teach me to obey ; 
With humble fear 
To serve thee here, 
To watch, and praise, and pray ! 
My love is weak, my faith is dim, 

But grace I ask from thee, 
That I may prove my love to him 
AVho loved and died for me ! 



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